Wednesday's Child
by Secondhand Ragdoll
Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same. A Hameron Darkfic. Adult themes implicit.
1. Lithium

**A/N:** I've never really tried my hand at writing live-action before, and it was surprisingly difficult. I haven't had any time to edit or revise this piece, so it's very raw and I'm pretty displeased with it. I'll probably re-read it a month from now and get all embarrassed and take it down. So. Take advantage of a limited-time offer.  
**Disclaimer:** Sure, I own House. (Everybody lies.)

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**Wednesday's Child**  
By Secondhand Ragdoll

_Monday's child is fair of face  
Tuesday's child is full of grace  
Wednesday's child is full of woe  
Thursday's child has far to go_

Act I

His hands were shaking, and when he heard the knock he spilt sugar over the countertop. The grains lay there on the veined soapstone like lace cast faintly blue in the light of the oven clock as he balled up his fists against the counter and closed his eyes and waited for the sickness to pass. After a moment he took the towel around his neck and slid it off and wiped his palms with it and then got his cane from where it was leaning against the cupboards and limped to the door.

"Secret password?" he said, leaning his forehead against the jamb.

"If you let me in, you won't have to pay for the door I'm about to break down."

"I have renter's insurance," he said. "Go away."

"I've got Maker's Mark."

A beat passed in perfect silence. The whitewash paint on the jamb was cool against his skin. At last he undid the chainlock and turned and made his way back into the kitchen. "It's open," he said. He looked up when she came in, her hair loose and tumbling down over her back. "Cuddy should have sent Foreman," he said. "At least he could have picked the lock."

"Cuddy didn't send me." Cameron slid her rucksack off her shoulder and let it down. "Why is it so dark in here?"

"Because the lights are off," he said. He took a tin cup and began to measure out the sugar again. "You were smarter when you worked for me."

"You know what I meant." She came over and picked up a pot off the counter. "What is this?" She dipped her finger inside and lifted it out and said, "What the hell is this?"

"Cake," he said. "I'm getting in touch with my feminine side."

"House."

He took the pot from her. "Thirteen would have believed it."

"What is it really?"

He set the pot down. "Mash," he said. "It's a still."

"A still?"

He looked over at her. "You were smarter when you worked for me."

"You're making moonshine."

He stopped measuring and raised an eyebrow. "I take it back. You get to go to the head of the class."

"Homemade distilleries are illegal."

"I know. I blame Marilyn Manson."

"I'd heard Cuddy cut you off again."

"You'd think she would know better by now," he said, opening a paper sack of corn meal on the counter. "Wouldn't you?"

"House," she said. She grabbed his wrist. "This has got to stop."

He looked down at her through his eyelashes. His lids were heavy and tinged with red, but the irises were clear. Calculating. "How did you get here?" he asked. There was an impression in his brow that meant his mind was turning over. "Did you walk?"

"I took a cab," she said. In the flush of the city lights that came in through the window he could see the color rise in her cheeks. She let go of his wrist but the charge in the air remained. "Why?"

"Did you take the stairs?"

"Elevator. House?"

"There's an artery in the thumb," he said. He folded the top of the floursack down and pushed it back against the wall. "Called the princeps pollicis artery. It's why they teach you to take a pulse with your first two fingers. Because if you take it with your thumb, you'll feel your own heartbeat."

"Wow," she said. "You should be a doctor."

"Funny thing is, when someone grabs you, you can feel their princeps pollicis artery." She crossed her arms and looked down to the side, away from him.

"Can tell how fast their heart is beating." He turned toward her. "Yours is racing."

She moved a handful of hair out of her face. She would not look at him. "Tachycardia is boring symptom," she said.

"In sick people. You're not sick. Which makes it interesting."

"Don't do this."

"And it's not from exercise. You took the elevator. Which means either this cologne really is as irresistible as the commercials say it is," he said, raising his cuff to his nose and sniffing. "Or…" He looked her up and down and then dropt his arm. "Or you're stoned."

She didn't say anything.

"You're _stoned_?" he said, raising his eyebrows. She didn't answer. "I hope you brought enough to share at least."

She took a bottle out of her coatpocket and tossed it to him, and he caught it against his stomach.

"This isn't why I came," she said.

House finished chasing down a mouthful with a glass of Bacardi and then put both his hands on the counter behind him and closed his eyes.

"I came because I needed to see you."

"You came because you needed something from me. That's why the Vicodin," he said.

"You think it's a bargaining chip?"

"I don't think anything. It's a bargaining chip."

"Why would I give it to you before I got what I wanted?"

He opened an eye. "Because you're lousy at bargaining."

"Or you're wrong."

"Okay."

She waited a while. At last she said, "Chase proposed to me."

He opened his eyes. In the silence between them, they could hear the tick of the longcase clock in the living room. A siren blipped and then started up close by. He looked away from her and out the window to where the reflection of streetlights glowed in a thin layer of cloud cover. "Congratulations," he said quietly.

She blinked and looked up to the ceiling. He thought she might have been crying. "Is that all?"

"Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I don't know," she said. She pressed her lips together and then blinked upward again and shook her head a little. "No."

He unhooked his cane from the ovenhandle and said "Sorry," as he limped passed her out of the kitchen. She waited until he had got to the sofa and then she said, "I didn't say yes."

He stopped with his back to her and put his free hand on the couch for support.

"I told him I needed to think."

He bowed his head. "And you came here."

She didn't say anything. He took his cane by the shaft and hitched it up in his hand and dropped it and hitched it up again and dropped it again as he thought.

"You didn't call here," he said. "You came_._ In person."

"I told you I had to see you."

"And you brought painkillers."

"Cuddy--"

He turned around. "Yeah, Cuddy cut me off. Last time I checked, you were on that bandwagon. So what changed?"

She was quiet.

"You didn't need to see me," he said. "You came looking for something." He was watching her now with his head tilted back. The fine crowsfeet at the edges of his eyes slightly crinkled as he took her in. There was something aching in his expression.

"You needed to know if you still had feelings for me."

The space between them seemed to go on forever. It took up all the room in the apartment.

"Yes," she whispered.

A beat. "Do you?'

She crossed to him with her eyes darting over his face, and he watched her without moving. "I don't know," she said. She stopped close enough that he could smell the scent of her, as if it were one of the fibres loomed into the cloth of her shirt. He knew it well enough---the memory of it always stayed long after the rest of her had gone.

She reached up a hand. Her fingers felt cold against his cheek. He watched her. "I don't know," she whispered. She moved her thumb over his mouth. Her eyes flickered up to his and then down again and she leant forward and pressed her lips against his. He hadn't shaved in a while and his jaw was stubbled, coarse. After a moment she pulled away.

"You should go," he said coldly. "Before you make an even bigger fool of yourself." Her hand was still on the back of his neck. His skin felt like it was burning.

"You didn't try to stop me," she said.

"I know." He raised his eyebrows. "Must be high."

She held his gaze firmly, her hands on the yoke of his shirt, fingering the corners of his collar. Her irises were dark, wideopen, and in them he could tell the exact moment that her walls collapsed. She kept his stare as she began to unbutton his shirt, and when it was open she stripped it away from his shoulders so that it hung by its shirtsleeves. She began to kiss him again. His throat and the hingepoint of his jaw and the corner of his mouth. She touched the waistband of his jeans and then his hand was suddenly over hers. The boyishness in his eyes was gone. There was something hungry there instead.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

The rush of the medicine in her veins was heady, the fabric of his clothes intoxicating. "Yes," she breathed.

"No backsies," he said. The joke fell flat.

"I want this," she said.

There was a moment of stalemate, like the calm that comes before a storm. Sound and motion were suspended. The second hand of the clock did not tick. The headlights flashing past the window stilled.

And then the dams broke.

Act II

His kiss was violent.

He shook the dress shirt from his elbows and then his hands were on her hips, jerking her close and then running upward to trace over her ribcage. She crossed her arms at the waist and caught the hemline of her top and lifted it off over her head, flinging it away to the side. Before the chiffon had even reached the floor, he had pushed her up against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her lungs and then he was kissing the hollow where her collarbones touched, fingering the ridges of her spine. Those spaces he had eyed up when he thought she wasn't watching. He bit into the place where her neck met her shoulder and she took in fistfuls of his T shirt, the muscles of her forearms tightening as she tugged him up against her.

They moved together push and pull through the living room, knocking over the lampshade on the endtable, their feet scattering its shards of broken glass. Lost in feel of the friction between them.

He was hard against the inseam of his jeans by the time they got to the foot of the bed. Later she would not remember if she pressed him backward or if he pulled her down. It felt as though time braked as they fell together to the coverlet, her hands in his hair and his hooked into her beltloops. They hit the mattress hard amidst a groan of bedsprings and she pulled his denims down around his ankles and let him kick them away.

The texture of the cotton quilt was rough. He held the straps of her lace bra in his fists, sliding his hands up and down the bands one, two, three times, before he pushed them off her shoulderblades and ran his fingers across the skin. She sat up and undid the clasp at her back and tossed the bra aside, and for a moment they stayed unmoving in their deadlock. He was lying flat on his back and she straddled him. His chest rose and fell heavily. They were both shaking.

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her breasts with uncharacteristic gentleness, rubbing her nipples with the ball of his thumb, and her breath hitched up in her throat. "House," she whispered. He was watching her as he unsnapped her pants and slid them down. His fingers hooked the elastic of her underwear and pared the fabric away. She closed her eyes.

She was more fineboned than he had imagined those times he sat in his office with his feet up on his desk, flipping a coin from knuckle to knuckle and watching her move behind the glass. Her skin looked like china. He felt like he could break her.

The thought exhilarated him.

He took off his boxerbriefs and let them fall to the floor with the rest of their castaway clothes. She opened her eyes.

He said, "I don't love you."

She said, "You're lying."

He said, "I know."

Act III

When he woke, she was dressing in the cool light of the morning. He lay awake amidst sheets that would smell like her long after the rest of her had gone, and he watched her bunch her hair away from her neck. She sat down at the edge of the bed, the ridge of her spine rippling as she bent forward to lace her shoes. If he reached out, he thought he could touch her skin.

He knew what would happen if he did.

Backs arching.

Muscles gathering.

Fingers clutching.

He would put the heel of his palm between her teeth when she came. She would bite down hard enough to draw blood. The world would turn white when he climaxed. They would collapse together. He would take the hair away from her face and watch her sleep. When she woke, he would tell her not to marry Chase.

She would not marry Chase.

He didn't move.

He thought he saw her touch the corner of her eye, and then she put her hands on the mattress and pushed herself to her feet and she was was standing. He listened to the crunch of ceramic beneath her heels as she left the room. He listened to the sound of it breaking. It was something that he had heard before. He heard the doorknob turn. He heard the door fall shut behind her. It was something that he had heard before.

He closed his eyes.

Outside, it had begun to rain.

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**A/N:** It all began with "No More Mr. Nice Guy," which kicked every Hameron fan's imagination into overdrive. Everybody wanted to know when House and Cameron had sex. This is sort of a missing scene from season four, I guess. I'm toying with the idea of turning it into a three- or four-part story, but I feel like this is a weak opening chapter.

Anyway. Happy Thanksgiving---The holiday when Americans celebrate the day the Indians took forty seconds to review the Pilgrims' FanFiction stories and made the Pilrims very very happy.


	2. Novocain

**Disclaimer:** Sure, I own House. (Everybody lies.)  
**Story Summary:** The more things change, the more they stay the same. A Hameron darkfic. Adult themes implicit.  
**Chapter Summary: **Wilson watches House suffocate in the aftershocks of his one night stand with Cameron.  
**Suggested Listening:** "Dying," by Hole.

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**Wednesday's Child  
Chapter Two:** **Novocain**  
By Secondhand Ragdoll

He turned up the second night afterward. His shirt open at the throat and his jacket unzipped. Snow was gathering gently along his collar, but he did not raise the brass knocker. He stood unmoving on the doorstep with his cane held lengthwise in both hands and the snow came down around him, flaring under the light of the streetlamps. His footprints had already disappeared by the time Wilson saw him through the thin curtains of the window and opened the door to him. They stood apart for a moment without speaking. Then he said, "What happened."

House raised his eyes and then lowered them again. He began to tap his cane against the palm of his hand. "I need a place for the night," he said at last.

Wilson stood aside to let him pass and then closed the door behind him and turned around. House was standing in the centre of the room with his back to Wilson. Ice melted in the shape of his crosstrainers over the floors. Wilson folded his arms.

"What happened?" he said again.

House crossed to the sofa and sat down, leaning his cane against the armpart. He put his left leg up on the coffee table and then used both hands to lift his right leg over his left. "Can't sleep," he said.

"What happened to your apartment, I mean," said Wilson.

"Nothing." He looked over his shoulder at him. "I just thought I could borrow from your stash of the date rape drug. I hear the stuff really knocks you out."

"House."

"Just don't get any ideas after I've passed out. Sex would wreck our friendship."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Why not. It's what all the cool kids are doing."

Wilson unfolded his arms and looked away. Then he looked back. "You didn't drive here, did you?"

"Please," House glanced over his shoulder at him. "That would be irresponsible."

Wilson touched his fingers to his eyes. After a moment he dropped his arm and slid the chainbolt into its latch and said, "Fine." He pointed at him. "But you're gone in the morning."

House moved his legs off the table and stood and got his cane and then halfturned on the spot. He nodded. "Thanks," he said. "I'll leave your stuff on the couch."

"You're taking my bed?"

"That was my way of saying it." He limped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Wilson waited by the jamb for a while before he shook his head and took off the couch cushions and opened the sofa. There was some icewater on the coffee table from House's sneakers. Wilson sat at the edge of the mattress and put his elbows on his knees and knitted his fingers under his chin, tapping his first two fingers together against his lip as he stared at the water. After a while he reached over and pulled the lamp chain. The bulb went out, and he lay back with the metal bar of the couch hard against his spine. He lay there a long time, and his last thought before he fell to sleep was that there was something wrong.

His last thought before he fell to sleep was that there was something very wrong.

* * *

He woke early and shaved in the fluorescent light over the bathroom sink. The bulb weakening and brightening and tainting everything with green. He dried his cheeks on a damp towel and left it on the toilet tank and then went out of the apartment in his dayold clothes. There was snow everywhere, lining the dainty fretwork of the tree branches with white. He could see his breath in front of him.

Chase and Foreman were already in the office when Wilson got there. They looked up as he opened the door. He said, "Come on." He said, "I need you two." His hand was still on the doorknob.

Chase checked his watch. "What about House?" he said.

Wilson cast a look behind him. "He won't be in for a while," he said. "I need you."

They exchanged a look. Foreman closed the folder on the table and touched his nose and then leaned his forehead against his fist. "What's this about," he said.

Wilson let go of the handle and caught the edge of the door with his fingers. "It's House," he said. "There's something wrong about him."

"He's detoxing," said Chase. He moved a stirstick around his coffee and then took it out and flicked it off and laid it on the table. He raised the mug to his lips. "It's an old story."

Wilson looked behind himself again. "I've seen him detox," he said. "This is different."

"And you're telling us because...?" Foreman said, and waved a hand.

"I want you to come check out his apartment," he said.

Chase was already shaking his head. "No," he said. "No way. Unemployment checks aren't going to cover my rent."

"House isn't going to fire you."

"It's funny," said Foreman. "Because that sounds exactly like something House would do."

"He's not going to fire you because he's not going to _be _there," said Wilson. "He's at my place."

"What, you're not even going to buy him breakfast?" said Chase.

"He's at my place because he doesn't want to be at his place," said Wilson. "That makes me curious why not."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Chase said, lifting his coffee again. Wilson came a step into the room and leaned forward and took Chase's mug away.

"Then it's a good thing you aren't cats," he said. "Get your coats." He set the coffee down and turned and left. Chase watched him go, and watched the door close slowly after him. When it had latched shut, he pushed his chair back and stood with the file under his arm. "Is it me or is House rubbing off on him," he said beneath his breath, lifting his jacket from the back of his chair. He nudged the chair in with his foot and then followed Foreman through the glass doors and into hallways that were empty, tugging on his jacket as he went.

* * *

They could smell the alcohol from outside. It was bitter. Foreman pulled his shirtsleeve over his hand and pressed it to his nose as they moved inside the apartment, looking at the floorboards left and right of them.

"Christ," said Chase. He put his hands on his knees. "Jesus Christ."

Wilson was already in the kitchen. He picked up a pot and then set it down again and wiped his nose. "I think he's making moonshine," he said. "It looks like he was trying to make moonshine."

"I can't breathe in this," said Chase. "Jesus."

"I think we've solved the mystery of why House didn't want to stay at his apartment," said Foreman. "Let's go before he decides to stop by for a nightcap, can we."

Wilson didn't reply. He was going through the bottles on the counter, turning them and tipping them back so that he could read their labels. "He didn't get done," he said. "He never finished making it."

"Great. Let's stay here and chat about that, why don't we."

"Why wouldn't he finish it?"

"I don't know. Why does House do anything?"

"He must have gotten interrupted," said Wilson. "Check his answering machine. Maybe he got a call."

Foreman crossed the living room and picked up the phone. He shook his head. "Nothing. No one's called him in weeks." He set the phone down in its cradle and took a step and then stopped and hitched up his trousers and sat down on his heels. He picked something up off the floor and then looked up. "It's glass," he said. "There's glass everywhere."

Wilson came over and Foreman held it up for him to take. Wilson turned the shard over in his hand and then shook his head and handed it back. "He might have broken it for the hell of it," he said. "He broke his hand last time he didn't have any Vicodin." Foreman tossed the glass away and put his elbows on his thighs so that his hands hung between his legs.

"Maybe," he said.

"Hey," Chase called from the bedroom. He had got out a handkerchief from his pocket and was holding it up against his mouth. "Hey. Come take a look at this. What do you think this means?" He tucked the cloth into his backpocket. "No bedclothes," he said when they had joined him. "Look at this. He's got all the sheets in with the trash," he said, nodding his chin to where a corner of cotton hung over the lip of the trash can.

"Probably it doesn't mean anything," said Foreman. "He probably throws away a bedset every week. Can you see House doing laundry, I mean?"

Wilson went over to the trash and handled the sheet fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He was quiet. After a while, he said, "We should go now."

Chase glanced over at Foreman. "What," he said. "What is it?"

Wilson let go of the sheet. "Nothing," he said. "We're leaving."

They followed Wilson out of the apartment and watched him lock the door. He put the key back above the jamb. Chase was rocking on the balls of his feet. "What is it?" he asked. "What happened."

"It doesn't matter any more," said Wilson. "Let's go."

Things were silent inside the sedan. They could hear the wipers going all the way back to the hospital. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, and it glared off the veil of snow that lay over everything and turned it blinding.

Everything was blinding, blinding.

* * *

House was sitting on the sofa and resting his forehead against the handle of his cane when Wilson came home.

"Oh, good," said Wilson. "I was worried you were lying when you said you'd be gone in the morning."

House raised his head and then pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted the cane backward, away from himself. "Sorry," he said. "My watch must have stopped."

Wilson walked to the fridge and opened it. There was a clanking as he shifted some things inside. Then he straightened with a can of beer and popped the tab on it and leant over the door. "You didn't go to work today."

House began to roll the cane between his hands. "Can't get one by you," he said.

"You didn't eat either."

"I'm watching my figure."

"Or shave."

"What is this?" He looked up. "The Spark Notes version of my day?"

Wilson took out another can and closed the door and came over the couch and sat down. "You look like hell," he said. He set the can down in front of House.

"You're sweet to notice."

"Want to talk about it?"

There was a pause. "No." He stared at his cane for a while and then he laid it down on the coffee table and picked up the beer.

"Cameron didn't show up for work either," he said.

"It's a bad day for sick people everywhere," said House.

Wilson put the can down. He splayed his fingers and pressed them together and then touched them to his lips. There was a gap where neither of them spoke. Finally he said, "Did you sleep with her?" He was staring straight ahead.

House looked off to the side sharply. He didn't say anything.

Wilson pursed his mouth and shook his head, still staring forward. "What the hell," he said. "I don't even know what the hell you could have been thinking."

House glanced at Wilson and then away. He nodded forward at the beer in his hands. "I wasn't thinking." He plied his lower lip and looked up to the ceiling. "I was high."

"You knew what you were doing. That isn't any excuse."

He opened the can. "She started it," he said glibly.

"You know how this is going to end," said Wilson. "You're only going to get her hurt, is how it's going to end."

"She's a big girl."

Wilson laughed. There wasn't any humor in it. "You don't even care," he said.

House didn't say anything for a long time. He could hear the sound of cars go by. Their headlights chased rectangles of yellow around the walls of the apartment. "She left," he said at last. He scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. "She thought I was asleep. She got up and left."

Wilson was quiet. "Do you want to talk about it?" he said again.

"Yeah," House set his can beside Wilson's on the table. "I got free sex with no strings attached. I feel so cheap." He raised his eyebrows at Wilson. "And used."

"That would be funnier if it wasn't true."

House didn't say anything. The silence stretched on between them, until it was killing Wilson. At last Wilson reached forward and picked up his beer off the coffee table. He touched it against the brim of House's and then raised it up and said, "To love." He looked down at the beer. After a while, he drank from it.

Suddenly House swept his arm across the table. His can hit the floor and rolled away and came to a stop at the tableleg, shuddering to a standstill. Alcohol spilt out slowly onto the floorboards. Wilson watched House stand and turn away. He watched him leave. He watched his back until House got to the bedroom and shut the door hard behind him. The pictures on the wall rattled. He kept on watching. He watched even after everything had gone still.

At his feet, the puddle grew.

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**A/N:** Ah, the alliterative ending. Reviews are the breakfast of champions.

**Kshar:** You're my favorite! Your review made me smile all day long.  
**deminio:** Wow. The famous deminio reviewed my story?? You write some of the best HCam on this site. "Opposite Outcome" was actually the first House FanFic I ever read. The summary was just so tantalizing. I love your work.  
**Limaccia:** See, I stopped watching CSI when Sara and Grissom got together. I was a Catherine/Grissom shipper. It seems no matter what I watch, I'm always rooting for the wrong team. It's very discouraging. (Enter FanFiction.) Thank you so much for reviewing!  
**whatfear:** Aw, thanks. You might have changed your mind after this chapter, though. Even while I was writing it, it felt so short and choppy. Of course, I couldn't sleep that night, so I'm pretty sure my thought patterns were ADD throughout the whole thing.  
**ijssl: **I'm really glad you liked it. Whenever I post something, I feel like I'm just leaving myself open for people to take shots at me. Hopefully this chapter wasn't as awkward as it felt when I read it through this morning.  
**KittyX1981:** You have just become my new favorite person. I bet everyone in real life loves the hell out of you. Your review was so sweet.  
**petro13: **Oh my God, you just hit on my biggest fear. So many stories out there picture House as just this oozing marshmallow of love. Where's the fun in that? I feel the EXACT SAME WAY about the wave of Huddy online. Every time I log in, I check to see if they've started outnumbering the HCam fics, and after a while, I was like: "The hell with it. I'm going to join the forces of HCam shippers everywhere to fight Huddy." Well. This response is getting so long it's going to need an intermission pretty soon. So, I really hope you liked this chapter, and I hope to hear from you again!  
**Anna:** Has anyone told you that you write the best reviews ever? No? You write the best reviews ever. How can I ever thank you for what you said? It was so nice, it practically had me blushing. I'm so very glad you recognized this wasn't smut. I just really, really hope you're reading this right now, because I think I'm going to dedicate a chapter to you sometime. Peace out for now!  
**AllyCameron: **Wow. That's so generous of you! I hope this chapter was alright. I have to say, it's not my best stuff. If anyone's still interested after Chapter Two, I think I'll try to dial it up and actually put out some decent work.  
**Molleyn: ** Aw. Thanks so much! I really hope you like where things are going. I hate to admit it, but I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this. Is there anything you'd like to see if I decide to keep it going?

If I do wind up writing another chapter, I think I'll take it from Cameron's angle as she tries to forget about her indiscretion, and maybe touch on Chase's growing suspicions about the revelation Wilson had at House's apartment.


	3. Bulletproof

**Disclaimer:** Sure, I own House. (Everybody lies.)  
**Story Summary:** The more things change, the more they stay the same. A Hameron darkfic. Adult themes implicit.  
**Suggested Listening:** "Straight No Chaser," by Bush.  
**A/N: **Warning: This chapter is really poor craftsmanship. Read at your own risk.

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**Wednesday's Child  
Chapter Three: Bulletproof**  
By Secondhand Ragdoll

She sat by the window in her unlit kitchen and watched the watertower light revolve. She had the phone cradle in her lap and one hand resting on the receiver. The light on the answering machine was flashing, faintly casting in red those finebone features hidden by the dark. After a while she stood and put the telephone down on the sill. The red light blinked. She saw its reflection in the windowpane.

The gin was still on the drainboard in the kitchen. She picked it up and took out a glass from the cupboard and overturned the glass on the table. Cameron half-filled the glass with tonic and then unscrewed the gin and poured it even with the rim and threw the bottle into the sink. It rattled around the metal basin. The tonic spilt over the edges of the glass and onto the table when she picked it up. It left behind a wet bracelet on the lacquer. She drank from the glass and then she sat down with her legs drawn up under her and held the tumbler tight against her chest.

There was thin reef of ice over the streets outside. From where she sat she could see the shine of headlights in it. She could see a boy slipping on the ice. She watched him fall.

When the drink was gone, she went back to the sill and touched the answering machine. She let her hand rest there for a moment. Then she pressed play.

"Allison." She was staring out the window. She was not staring at anything. "It's Robert. I know you asked me not to call--" She pressed delete. The red light stopped blinking.

The silence went on.

* * *

Cuddy found him in his office, standing in front of the window and twirling his cane in his first two fingers. The blinds were open and he stared out at the snow falling gently down outside. There was a plow going by and he could see the curve of snow jetted up from the edge of the truckshovel and the lights turning atop the cab. She reached forward and snatched the cane away from him.

"Hey," he said. "I was using that." He made to grab for it, but she held it away to her side.

She said, "Have sex with me."

He stared at her for a beat and then went back to looking out the window. His right hand was gripping his leg. He said, "Let's not and say we did."

"See." She threw the cane down on the radiator and crossed her arms. "How hard was that?"

He looked over at her a long time. "You heard about me and Cameron," he said.

"Wilson told me."

He took his cane and said, "Blabbermouth," and then turned and began to limp away.

"House," she said. She dropped her arms to her sides. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He reached the door and then opened it and turned to face her. "If you could just get the notes from Wilson, it would really save me a lot of time," he said. "Thanks." He went out. The door fell shut behind him.

Cuddy caught up with him in the hallway. She said, "You're an idiot." Her heels clicked against the tiles as she followed him.

He leant forward and pressed the button for the elevator and then held his cane centerline in front of him and folded both his hands over the handle. "I know you are, but what am I?" he said.

"You're a jackass," said Cuddy.

"Now you're just being mean."

"Chase just proposed to her," said Cuddy. "What do you think he's going to do when he finds out?"

"He's not going to find out," said House. He leant forward and pressed the button twice more.

"Of course he'll find out," said Cuddy. "Cameron will tell him. How am I going to run a hospital when my ER and my Surgery aren't talking to each other?"

"Sorry," said House. "Next time I'll just have sex with a nurse." The elevator rang. Its doors opened. "That's me," he said, and stepped inside.

She stepped in alongside him and then shot him a look and pressed the button for floor one and interlaced her fingers in front of her. The doors closed. They rode in silence for a while. "I don't get how something like this happens," she said at last.

His right hand was on his thigh again. "I know it's been a while since you got some," he said, "but you'll pick it right up again. It's like riding a bike."

"This is a joke to you," she said, and gave a laugh. The doors opened up into the lobby. She left the elevator. The doors chimed and began to close again, and then she heard the crack of wood against metal. She turned around. House was standing inside the elevator and holding the doors open with his cane. He stared at the floor.

"She came to my apartment," he said. "She kissed me."

Cuddy looked away. She put her hand to her mouth and then looked back at him. "You idiot," she said. She turned toward him and put her hand on the inside of the door. "You knew about Chase," she said. "You knew she was having doubts. You took advantage of her."

He did not say anything. He did not look at her.

She exhaled through her nose and then shook her head. "Go home, House" she said. "Get a shave. You look like hell."

She let her hand fall away from the door. He took his cane and held it in both hands in front of him. He watched her leave. He watched her leave until the doors slid shut and all he could see was his own reflection in their metal.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

When he heard the knock, he put his forearm against the jamb and leant into it as he opened the door inward. He looked at the man at the doorstep of his office and then looked down and nodded and stepped away, holding the door for him. Chase did not move for a moment. Then he walked inside and went over to the window and put his hands on the sill.

"What did House do now?" Wilson asked.

Chase was looking out the window. "I was hoping you could tell me," he said. "You know when we went to his place yesterday."

"It was the day before," said Wilson. " What about it."

Chase turned around. The streetlamps haloed his hair in gold light. "You figured something out," he said. "You figured out what was wrong with House."

Wilson sat down and picked up a sheaf of papers and stacked them lengthwise against the desk and then turned them sideways and stacked them again. "It doesn't matter to you," he said. He opened a drawer and laid the papers inside.

"Does your neck bother you?" asked Chase.

Wilson closed the drawer and looked up. "What?"

"Your neck. Is it bothering you?"

Wilson shook his head and shrugged. He tossed his hands up and then let them drop back to the desk "No," he said.

"You were rubbing the back of your neck just a while ago," said Chase. "Like it was sore."

"I didn't notice."

"You did it at the poker game last November."

"I didn't notice."

"When you were bluffing, you rubbed the back of your neck like it hurt."

Wilson didn't say anything.

"You're lying," said Chase quietly.

Wilson stared at him across the room. He said, "I think you should go now."

"What happened in that apartment," said Chase.

Wilson scooted his seat in and then smoothed down his tie. "I don't have time for this," he said. He took a pen out of his shirtpocket and clicked it open and began to fill out paperwork.

Chase looked away. Then he looked back. He said, "There was a night three nights ago Cameron didn't come home." His voice was raw.

Wilson stopped writing. He stared at the spotlight the desklamp made against the wood. After a while, he looked up at Chase. He said, "Go home. Wait for her to call you." He signed his name. "Wait for her to say yes."

Chase left the window and came over to the desk. He closed his fingers over Wilson's pen hand. He said, "Please."

Wilson did not say anything.

"I love her," he said. He said, "Please."

The clockhand on the desk ticked. Wilson whispered. "I think you should go now."

There was a stasis. Neither moved. Then suddenly Chase grabbed the decanter off Wilson's desk and, turning, hurled it. The bottle hit the wall and exploded outward and the shards glinted as they fell. They fell down. There was a hole in the drywall where the bottle had hit and a rainfall of dust came down from the hole and wine dripped down over the paint, glistening in the lamplight.

Wilson watched it. He watched it all.

The tip of his ballpoint rested against the paper, and bled out ink.

* * *

Chase was sitting on the sofa in the breakroom with the lights all out when she found him. He looked up when she came in and then took off his surgical cap and ran his fingers through his hair and tossed the cap onto the coffee table. She came inside and held onto the doorknob and then leant back against the door and pressed it shut. When the latched clicked, she stayed there for a moment, leant against the door with both hands on the knob behind her. They looked at each other. Then she came forward slowly, moving through the streetlight with the crossbars of the windowpane rippling over her face.

She came over to him and knelt down at his feet and put her hands on his thighs. Her thumbs moved over the cotton weave of his scrubs. He leant back into the sofa and watched her. Finally, he said, "What are you doing."

Her face was pale in the darkened room. She said, "Ask me to marry you again."

He brought up his hand and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He felt the blood move beneath her skin. His hand fell away. He said, "Marry me."

She rose up on her knees and put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him on the mouth and then she leant her forehead against his and closed her eyes. She said, "Yes." She said, "Yes."

They stayed that way for a while, and after a while she stood up to leave and he put his arms around her waist suddenly. He rested his head against her stomach and she laid a hand atop his hair and he whispered, "I love you" into the fabric of her shirt. She didn't say anything. When she broke away and left, he tried not to think it.

He tried not to think about how, when he had kissed her, she had tasted like chemicals.

* * *

He was drunk when Wilson let himself into the apartment. He had a glass in his fingers and he was turning it round and round and watching the lamp filter though the bourbon to make an lacework of light on his leg. The keys clinked as Wilson let them down onto the table and then, watching House, he put his hands on the lapels of his greatcoat and took it off and folded it over his arm and slowly came up to the couch. He sat down and picked up the bottle of whiskey off the coffee table and rattled it and then put it back.

He said, "Hey."

House didn't say anything. He was tonguing one of his molar teeth.

Wilson laid the greatcoat over the armrest. Snowflakes were melting on the yoke of the fabric. "Chase came into my office," said Wilson.

House stopped turning the glass. He looked at it and then he set it on the coffee table and wiped his mouth with his hand.

"He knows there's something up," said Wilson.

House was quiet. Then he said, "Cuddy came to see me today." He touched his fingers to his eye.

Wilson didn't say anything.

House looked over at him. "You told on me," he said.

"Secrets, secrets are no fun," said Wilson.

"You can't take nursery rhymes seriously," said House. "My pants never caught on fire."

There was a short silence. Wilson said, "What did Cuddy want?"

House didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he said, "Nothing." His rubbed the heel of his right palm against his leg.

Wilson said, "Your leg is hurting you."

"Muscle death has been known to do that," said House

"More than usual," said Wilson.

"Not having Vicodin for muscle death has been known to do that," said House.

Wilson leant forward and reached into the House's shirtpocket and took out a prescription bottle between his first two fingers. He said, "Cameron's name was in the pharmacy log." He rolled the bottle in his hand and looked down at the label and then said, "She brought you painkillers that night."

House was quiet. At last he said, "She didn't take away the pain."

Wilson said, "House," and then stopped. He was staring at his hands. After a while, he put his arm along the back of the sofa and turned against the armrest and looked at his friend. He said, "Cameron said yes."

House looked up at him.

"To Chase," he said. "They got engaged."

House looked down again. After a long time, he said, "When?"

"Tonight," said Wilson. "A few hours ago. It's all over the hospital."

House picked up the tumbler and said, "It's better this way," and then drained it. He looked at the empty glass and then put it upsidedown on the table. He did not take his fingers off it. He let them rest there. A drop rolled down the inside of the glass and pooled along its rim.

"No, it isn't," said Wilson.

"No, it isn't," said House. He did not take his eyes off the tumbler. For a long time, they were silent. A car horn sounded, and a flock of game bird erupted screaming out of the deadened treeline. Their pinfeathers black against the cooling sky. When they had gone, the hush returned. He could hear the blood in his ears. At last he said, "I want," and then he fell quiet.

There was a pause. Wilson touched the elbow of House's shirt briefly. He let his hand fall away. He said, "I know." He said, "I know you do."

* * *

**A/N: **I just really, really want to thank everyone who's reviewed so far. =^_^= So. Thanks.

**JBLovesSharks:** Thanks! Sometimes, though, I feel like each installment is a little cheaper than the last. If I keep writing the story, it's really just a matter of time before it degenerates into cave paintings. Sorry I gave away part of 4x13--I should just wear a sandwich board that says "Spoiler Alert." Anyway, I really hope you liked the chapter, and Merry Christmas!  
**SexyScottishDoc: **That's pretty much the highest compliment you could pay an angst whore like me. Thank you! I hope you liked this installment, and happy holidays.  
**BeautyxInxThexBreakdown: **Whoa. Your review is like, 83% of the reason I wrote a chapter three. Seriously. Thank you SO MUCH! Merry Christmas!  
**Kittyx1981:** Kitty! *glomp* Thanks for the review. Merry Christmas!  
**AllyCameron:** =^_^= Thanks! I probably shouldn't have been as obsessed with editing this chapter, since my original audience probably died and were reincarnated as frogs and then died again in the time it took me to post this. But I really hope you like it! Happy Holidays  
**GabbyAbby: **Haha. If I continue this story, I promise House's resolve will break and he'll eventually go after her. But it will be a gruff, cold, rude going-after. No fluff here. As for the show--well, a girl can dream, can't she? I hope you liked the chapter. Merry Christmas.  
**Deminio:** Congratulations on finishing your story! I have the terrible habit of starting fics and then losing interest in them, so that's like the impossible dream for me. Thank you so much for review! It's much higher praise than I deserve. Anyway, I hope you have a happy holiday!  
**elh1997:** I love you. No, really. Your reviews are always so awesome! Merry Christmas =)  
**Midnight Turquoise:** You. Are. Freaking. Awesome. your review was so great, I feel like I owe you money. Except I have no money. Do you accept souls as a form of payment? Anyway, I swear to you, there will be no squishy Houses in this story. Have a great Christmas.  
**Koneka-Guardian:** Aw, thanks! You're so nice to me! I feel like I should treat you to coffee. I hope you liked the chapter, and happy holidays!  
**SiN:** You have no idea what it was like to see your name. I must have stared at that screen for at least three minutes without blinking. But I'm really glad you wrote, because I've been missing you so much lately. I hope I don't have to miss you anymore.  
**AndiFO: **Wow. Thanks so much! I love angst, so if I keep writing, there will be lots more House/Cameron/Chase misery. I hope this chapter was okay. And have a merry Christmas! =)  
**catgrl:** =^_^= Aw, thank you! I hope you liked the chapter! Merry Christmas!  
**KShar:** Yeah, I don't know what's been happening to my writing lately. I've been reading too much Raymond Carver. I write like an eight year old now. :S Anwyay, thanks so much for reviewing--Merry Christmas!  
**amyln: **Thank you! =) It only took me an entire month, but I did it! I updated! I hope you liked the chapter, and happy holidays!


	4. Nirvana

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Sure, I own House. (Everybody lies.) Section 5, Paragraph 1--The last sentence was greatly influenced by a line from Ginsbeg's Howl.  
**Story Summary:** The more things change, the more they stay the same. A Hameron darkfic. Adult themes implicit.  
**Suggested Listening:** "How's It Gonna Be," by Third Eye Blind.  
**Full A/N at the bottom**

* * *

**  
Wednesday's Child  
Chapter** **Four: Nirvana**  
By Secondhand Ragdoll

There was static on the television set when Wilson came home. The screen brightened and then darkened and cast the fittings of the room in pale blue light. He changed his briefcase to his left hand and ran his fingers up the wall and turned the lightswitch on. The television hissed.

He said, "House?"

There was no answer. He took a step forward. The floorboards creaked beneath his shoesoles. "House," he said.

He came forward into the livingroom and, looking around, he put down the briefcase on the sofa cushions. Then he went around the armrest and got the remote from atop the coffee table and turned off the set. The hissing stopped. He set the remote down again.

"Hello?" he said.

The kitchen was empty. The time display on the oven blinked off and on, and in its light he could see a glass bottle on the drainboard. He tilted it back so he could read the label and then opened the cupboard and put it away beneath the sink.

The door to the bedroom was halfclosed. He rapped his first two knuckles against it. "House," he said. He waited. Then he put his hand on the door and pushed it. It opened gently inward. The room was dark except for the rhombus of light the streetlamps made against the carpet as they came in through the window.

And in that glow he saw the figure that lay facedown on his bed.

Wilson came forward into the room and took House by his shoulders and rolled him over onto his back. He took the right arm from atop the sheets and held his fingers against the wrist. After a while he let the wrist drop. He took out his cell phone and dialed and then held it to his ear with his shoulder as he sat beside his friend on the bed, running the bedsheets through his fingers.

"Yes, hello, 911," he said. His voice shook. Something fell out of the sheets and hit the floor and rolled away. He got to his feet and went over to it and then sat down on his heels and picked it up and held it against the light.

An empty prescription bottle shone in his fingertips.

He said, "I have an emergency."

* * *

House came awake to the sound of machinery, and when he opened his eyes, he opened them to the drop tile of a hospital ceiling. The thin drapery on rails around his bed had been drawn shut. He brought his hand to his cheek and heard the jangle of IV belts. The needle taped beneath the skin of his hand moved. He laid his hand back down. He said, "How long have I been here?" He turned his head to look at Wilson sitting in the armchair at his bedside with his fist pressed to his mouth.

For a long time Wilson didn't say anything. Then he began to tap the fist against his lips. At last he said, "Almost a day."

House turned his head straightforward again.

"You overdosed," said Wilson. "When I found you you were almost gone."

"Please tell me you didn't bring me back to life with true love's kiss," said House.

Wilson didn't say anything for a while. He took his hand away from his mouth and opened it and looked at his palm and then let it fall to the armrest. He said, "This isn't funny, House." The monitor beeped. He looked away and slid his hand down the side of his face and then looked back. "What if I was late coming home from work?" he said.

"Then you would have missed the L Word marathon."

Wilson pressed his lips together and looked down. "You don't learn," he said. He shook his head. "You just don't learn. I should have just let you be."

"Yeah. Dying would have taught me a lesson," said House.

"Goddam it, House," Wilson whispered. There was a momentary lull. Then suddenly he took the edge of the nightstand and overturned it to the ground as he fired out of his chair. The clock plug came out of its socket amidst a rainfall of sparks. He turned and pointed at House. "If you want to pretend that your life doesn't mean anything to you, fine." He chopped the air sideways with his hand. "But it means something to me," he said, hitting his palm to his chest. He wore his white dress shirt open over a wifebeater and when he took his hand away from his chest, the thin cotton hulled away slow like a wedding veil coming down.

He turned and wiped his mouth and was still for a moment. Then he kicked out angrily. The nightstand spun on its side. For a while, Wilson stood with his hands on his hipbones and his shirttails untucked. Then he shook his head and went over to the part in the curtains and paused to look back at House and said, "You can sleep at your place tonight." He said, "I'm not going to watch you kill yourself."

He turned and left then, and in the instant before the curtain fell, House could see that he was alone inside a room full of dying men.

* * *

She went up to the desk in the twilight. The sky had cleared to a thin stole of cloud that was pink in the sunset, and behind that cloud the thumbnail moon was bright and cool in the chilling tones of outer darkness. She took a pen from the wire mesh cup and signed her name in the log and said, "Dr. Cameron signing in for clinic duty." She pulled back the edge of her sleeve and rotated her wrist to and fro and then checked her watch and said, "Five o clock." She clicked off the pen and laid it down crosswise on the clipboard. The receptionist took the corner of the board and dragged it toward her and then looked at it and pushed it back. She handed a file to Cameron over the counter and said, "You have a patient waiting for you."

House had been inside the clinic room for a half hour when he heard the doorknob turn. He had switched off the lights and was standing at the windowsill with a smoking cigarette between his teeth. The window had been cracked and wind drifted the smoke sidewise across the room. He took the cigarette in his first two fingers and turned around when he heard the door close, and for a moment neither moved or spoke as they watched each other from across the room. Then at last she whispered. "House?"

He turned back to the window and braced his hand against the pane. "You're surprised that Stacy Rect was a pseudonym?" he said.

"Only that you got the receptionist to go along with it."

"I told her she had a nice smile." He flicked the end of the butt with his thumb. Ash fell against the sill.

She said, "Smoking is bad for you you know."

He halfturned on the spot to look at her. "Get out of here," he said. "They should put that on the box."

"They should," she said. "They could call it the Surgeon General's warning." She set the folder down on the counter and let her hand rest atop it for a while. At last she looked up from the folder and said, "I heard about what happened."

He put the cigarette to his lips and then took it away between his thumb and his forefinger. He didn't say anything.

She shook her head. After a while, she said, "Why."

"My dog ate it," he said. Then he tilted his head to the side. "Wait. I think I used the wrong excuse."

"I'm being serious," she said.

He turned with his right hand on his thigh and limped around the bed. "What do you want to hear," he said. "That it was an accident?" He hoisted himself up onto the bed. The paper sheet crinkled. "That the devil made me do it?"

She looked at him and then away. "Yes," she whispered at last.

"It was an accident," he said. He flicked the cigarette away.

She came across the room slowly with her arms folded over her chest and stopped in front of him.

"Don't get any ideas," he told her. "I know right now I'm irresistible, but it's just the cigarette. Gives me sex appeal."

"Why are you here, House," she said.

He was quiet. A car came and lit her face, and then it was gone and her face was dark again. After a long time, he said, "You shouldn't marry him."

"Why."

"Because then it would be harder to get you to have sex with me."

She exhaled through her nose and looked around the room. "Is that all?"

"Plus he has an annoying accent."

She turned to leave.

"And because he's not the one you're in love with."

Cameron took her lower lip into her mouth turned back. There was a short silence. She said, "Whatever happened between us, it was a mistake." She took the folder from the counter and put it under her arm and then paused with her hand on the doorknob. She looked back at him and moved to say something, but then stopped herself. In the window behind him, she saw that it had rained and that the streets were slick with ice. They reflected in them the carbon lights from the filling station across the way, and they shone so bright she thought she would go blind to look at it.

They shone so bright it hurt even to see.

* * *

There was an oilcloth atop the table when she let herself into the apartment, and two candles cast pinpricks of light against the heavy white crockery of the place settings. When he heard the door shut, Chase came out of the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and wiped his hands off on a dishtowel and then leant forward and kissed her cheek. "Hey," he said. He took her jacket from her.

"Hey." She said, bunching hair away from her neck. "What is all this?"

He looked at the table behind him and then lifted a hand from the jacket and put it back. "Dinner," he said. "I thought we'd celebrate."

She picked up a plate and turned it over in her hand. Candlelight moved along its brim. She put it back. "It's beautiful," she said.

Chase laid the coat over the couch backing. "Why do you sound upset?"

"I'm not." She turned around to face him. She scoffed and then touched her forehead and shook her head and said, "It's nothing. I'm not upset." She went over to him and took the lapels of his sports jacket and pulled them closed and then swept her hands down the front of the jacket and said, "This is beautiful. It really is."

He smiled and cupped her elbows, rubbing his thumbs gently against her arms. "Let me just go and check the oven," he said softly. She nodded. For a long time he didn't move. Then at last he dropt his arms and turned away. "Get the champagne open, will you," he said. "It's on the table."

She went to the table and took the wine out of the bucket. A flake of ice slid down the glass and fell to the floor. She wiped her hand off on her pants. "Can you get me a corkscrew hon," she said.

"What?" he called from the kitchen.

"I need a corkscrew," she said. There was a pause, and then she heard the clink of the silverware drawer opening. A beat passed. Finally Chase came into the doorway with the stems of two flutes crossed between the middle fingers of one hand and a bottle opener in the other. He leant his shoulder against the jamb and watched her.

"I heard they admitted House today," he said.

She looked up at him and held his stare for a while. Then she looked down again. "Yeah," she said. "That's all anyone would talk about."

He came into the room and set the glasses down on the table and then took the bottle from her. "I guess they say he OD'd on his painkillers." He drove the spire into the cork and began to twist it.

"I guess so."

"I just can't believe it didn't happen sooner."

She looked up at him quickly. "What do you mean, you can't believe it didn't happen sooner?" she said.

"It's just that he's popping pills every time he turns around," he said. He put the bottle between his thighs and pulled upward on the screwhandle. "What did you think I meant," he said.

"I don't know." She sat down and put her elbows on the table and twined her fingers beneath her chin. "I don't know what I thought. I'm just tired, I think," she said.

The cork came out with a pop and a fountain of wine cascaded down from the bottleneck. "Christ," said Chase, flicking off his fingers. He poured the glasses and then set the champagne in the icebucket to chill. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "So how was your day."

"Fine," she said. "It was fine." She took a sip of champagne and then wiped the corner of her lip and said, "You?"

He shook his head. "House was in a coma," he said. "My day was great."

She didn't say anything.

"You know, it's the strangest thing," he said. "Wilson came in it was two days ago and said there was something wrong with House."

"Did he," she said. She began to adjust the flatware on her napkin.

"Yeah. He wanted us to take a look at his apartment."

She looked up at him. "You went to House's apartment?" she said.

"Foreman and Wilson and me."

"What did you find?" she said.

He shook his head. "I didn't see anything," he said. "It was such a mess. I didn't see anything." He drank and then set the glass down and swallowed and cleared his throat and said, "But Wilson did."

"Do you know what he saw?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I wish I could say." He looked down at his empty plate. "Anyway," he said at length. He raised his flute. "To us."

A car went by outside and backlit Chase's figure with his glass upraised alone in the air, and when the headlights passed and the room was again plunged into darkness, she could still see his image burnt into the inside of her eye.

She whispered, "I have something to tell you."

* * *

House lay awake on his sofa and stared at the foiled edges of the water damage stain on the ceiling. He could hear the click of bird talons against the ronepipes outside his window. The gears of the longcase clock in the livingroom began to wind. On the lid of the grand piano, a metronome ticked away the hour. He did not even remember falling asleep. Only that he thought of her. In his dreams, she emerged dripping from the sea, and walked in tears along the interstate to the door of his apartment in the yuletide night.

He awoke to the sound of knocking.

House pushed himself upright against the armrest and took his right leg in both hands and lifted it off the sofa and then got his cane from the coffeetable and sat still for a moment before standing. He gripped his thigh as he limped to the door, and then at last he leant his cane against the nook where the walls met and cracked it open. There was a beat of silence. He closed the door and took off the chainlock and opened it again. Cameron turned sideways to step by him and their shoulders brushed as she came into the livingroom. He closed the door behind her. They turned to face each other.

She raised her right arm a ways from her body and then let it drop back. It slapped against her greatcoat, dislodging snowflakes that fell gently to the floor.

There was no more ring on her finger.

She said, "Honey, I'm home."

There was no more ring.

Outside, one lonely houselight was burning, cold and white, like a dogstar.

* * *

**A/N: EPILOGUE: **And House and Cameron lived happily ever after.

I'm sorry it took so long, but the good news is you'll never have to wait for another update again, since I think I'm going to make this the end of the story. I might write an actual epilogue. You guys have made this so much fun for me, so thanks! Does anyone think it would have been better if I had left it at, "He awoke to the sound of knocking"?

**Eisen7:** Thanks, Eisen. I set a deadline for myself to have this out by the fourteenth of January. You can see now why I was fired from the newspaper. Nonetheless, I hope you liked this. Thanks for sticking with me this far. You rock!  
**Kittyx1981:** Ah, Kitty. I'm gonna miss saying this: You are freaking awesome! I hope the ending didn't suck. See you around?  
**AllyCameron: **Poof! Chase is gone! (Good advice.) I *did* enjoy my holidays, thanks! I hope you rocked the new year. And I hope you liked the chapter. It's the first time I ever finished a fanfiction story! Give a girl some props, huh?  
**ijssel:** Whoa. I want to give you free stuff for being so nice to me. Well, it's kind of a cop-out ending, but I can't stand sappy stuff. I hope you liked it anyway! See you around =)  
**JBLovesSharks:** Haha, I wish I *had* written more HousexCameron sex. Maybe I'll try writing another story for the House archive sometime. :P I wanted to write a story that could be either canon or AU. So I didn't want an explosion of House fluff at the end. Still, I hope it didn't end on too weak a note. Man, you have been the greatest. Thanks so much! I hope you liked?  
**elh1997:** The truth? I'm Santa Claus. But don't tell anyone. I don't want whinging brats coming to my apartment and asking me for ponies. I have to say, I'm going to miss you. So for the last time, I love you, thank you so much for reviewing, and I hope you liked it! Peace out.  
**amyln: **Amyln, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...Thanks so so much for bothering with this little cut-rate distraction. I'm really gonna miss you! =) Well. For the last time, I hope you liked the chapter!  
**worldShifter:** Aw! Thank you so much! I'm going to miss writing on this story. Or should I say, I'm going to miss looking at the date at the bottom of my computer and thinking: Wow. I was supposed to put a chapter out two weeks ago. Anyway, I really hope you liked it! See you around?  
**Stella:** How could I say no to that? You were so damn polite! Well, it's late but it's not never. I hope you liked it, Stella!  
**Freckle:** Thanks Freckle! I hope you liked the chapter.  
**KShar:** Do you really like Raymond Carver? Because if you do, I know we were meant to be together. Well, even if you don't, I still love you. My, how I'll miss you. I hope you liked the chapter! =)  
**DyingRain:** You and me both. I don't care for fluff, but if it's well-written I'll read it anyway since I'm starved for HCam. Just because of your review, I stuffed a CameronxChase scene in here. =) I hope you liked it! See you around? ~Kay  
**AndiFO:** AndiFO, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...Seriously, your review put a big, goofy smile on my face. Dialogue is something I've had to work really hard for, so I melted when I read what you wrote. You don't have to worry about Cameron and Chase winding up together in one of my stories--I'm a Hameron fan through and through! I really hope you liked the chapter, and I wish you a sincere good luck in the film-making industry, my friend. =)  
**PaintRedRoses:** Haha, are you kidding?! You were definitely part of my inspiration to write another chapter. You are to me what Frosted Flakes are to Tony the Tiger. Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter!  
**catgrl:** You BET House tells Cameron he wants her back! Anyway catgrl, you are seriously the best. Thanks so much for reviewing! I hope you liked the chapter?  
**Sophies-Welt: **Wow. You're my new favorite reviewer. You are so damn sweet! Well, House went after her in his typical inappropriate, standoffish fashion. I think when I started writing this I hoped the final chapter would be a little more fulfilling than it was. Maybe I'll write an epilogue...Either way, thanks so much for reviewing, and I hope you liked the chapter.  
**deminio:** Why, hello! I hope this chapter wasn't quite as melancholic as the last three. House *did* take action, even if it was a little $$-backwards. I've got to say, you are the BEST for sticking with me. Thank you so much! I hope you liked the chapter! I'll be seeing you once you write another of your rockin' stories. =)  
**SiN:** Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. I didn't expect to see *you* here. (That's a total lie. We both know I badgered and nagged and threatened you into reviewing.) Still. Thank you, Wiggle! I kept up my end of the bargain--an entire other chapter delivered before morning, complete with House not dying from parasuicide and getting lots of p----Um. I mean, and getting laid a lot. Though I decided against putting in the bit where Chase blows his head off. Love, Lovey ^_^  
**SiN (again): **Good word.

List of Dirty Pseudonyms that House Discarded Before Settling on Stacy Rect:

Wilma Dickfit  
Anita Naylor  
Ima Reilly Cumming  
Ivanna Bang  
Jenny Talya


End file.
